


Indelible

by an_island_universe



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: (of sorts), /Angst, /Fixing, A Rescue, Angst, Dark Thoughts, F/F, Generally crippling emotions, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, I hope, M/M, Mainly Hurt, Pararibulitis (Dirk Gently), Project Blackwing (Dirk Gently), Sibling Bonding, Slow Burn, and other such subtleties, depends on my mood when writing a chapter, depressive episodes, perhaps, post 1x08
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 12:59:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10571796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/an_island_universe/pseuds/an_island_universe
Summary: Todd Brotzman is anexcellentliar.So much so that even his own brain has been swayed by the words that twist from his lips, the universe believing it cruelly ironic enough for him to have contracted theexactdisease he had been lying about for six years.(Or- An exploration of Todd dealing with his newfound Pararibulitus, potential arson, missing psychics and other more general madness).





	1. Hitherto

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just finished this series last month and wanted to write about my immense love for Todd Brotzman. It might take me a while to find their voices, but hopefully this isn't too OOC. Oneshot, for now!

As he welcomes back consciousness, the first thing Todd Brotzman thinks of is _Amanda_. He’d be lying if he said that the second thing wasn’t murder, and how eerily accustomed he has become to the thought. It wasn’t like he hadn’t already killed for her, because he had. In Springsborough. Around six years ago.

(Farah tells him later that he had sounded like he was being murdered, writhing around on the grimy bathroom tiles of their local diner as his flesh was consumed by decay and debilitating heat. So perhaps, he’d killed a man twice).

 

\---

 

"Just- Sit still for a minute, yeah?" Todd mutters, trailing a brush through the matted ends of his sister's hair. 

        "Okay. Okay, but _dude_ , you have to hear what I did today!"

Todd tries (and fails) to still her with a gentle hand, losing his progress alongside the brush as she whirls around to face him with a grin, babbling on about how she had shut some guy up in class today. And dude, _it was awesome_ (so awesome). He tries to fish for the brush suspended between her hair and her shoulder blades.

        A moment of annoyance dissipates into a soft smile, and a fondly exasperated: "Awesome, Amanda. _Really_. You're awesome. But I kind of need that brush if we're gonna get through any of this."

        "Right! Yeah."

The two siblings fall into circadian rhythm: Todd drags fingers and brush gently through her hair, while Amanda sits and taps out a tune onto her knee. _Mexican Funeral_. He counts down the minutes in his brain - _at 6 Mom will be back, then at 8, Dad, and at 9 someone ought to make dinner._ Amanda will want spaghetti. It's a Wednesday. They're good for all the nothings the two could want to get up to, and Todd takes this moment to acknowledge that, for the first time that week, his knotted anxieties have unwoven themselves into a warm pool. 

"-Kenneth Moorman, right?"

        "Huh?"

"The guy you socked in the face?"

         Amanda hides a smile to herself as she says, "Yeah."

"Good." Todd says, and backtracks by mussing up her hair with an affectionate ruffle and a kiss to the crown of her head. "That guy was a fucking _dick_."

 

\---

 

Todd wakes in a disgruntled heap on his sofa, half expectant for a can of beer in his face and his sister's stony expression. He finds neither, brow dampened from sweat instead, and the sinking realisation that  _that loop has already been closed._

If it were up to a Week Younger Todd, he would pick at the threads of time until he found another, but Current Todd has accepted that some things _really can't_ be changed.

So Current Todd rolls over and prays to get back into his dreams. At least, in those, he finds some synonym of peace.

 

"You're going to fix that, right?" Farah says, rousing Todd as a draft in the apartment block shifts the door back and forth.

        He, face pressed into the cushions, gives a grunt in response.

"I aim to fix a lot of things," comes his bitter reply, remembering all too acutely how many times he's insisted that lately.

Farah gives him a minute to wake himself up, tense at the possibility of another flare-up. "Todd, are you-" "M'fine." He says, gaze resolutely stuck to his feet. His lips part for air, raking in a breath that stings and makes him acutely aware of how sore his body now feels.

She watches as Todd subconsciously checks over his skin, anticipating a view of tattered and peeling flesh after the ordeal in the diner. He isn't sure how relieved he feels to find a view of unmarred skin. A large part of him thinks it would have been well deserved to find himself not waking at all.

        "Oh... Okay." Characteristically, Farah's gut twists with a roll of nerves regardless of the claim.

"So uh... So..." He wets his lips, and squints, working out a knot in his back. "Wait- Farah, why're you here? Where's _Dirk_?" 

"That's what I was... I mean I suppose I _wasn't_ about to tell you because you were asleep and of course you were asleep, it isn't like an attack like that is _easy_  because Amanda has told me all about hers, and anyway, I'm off topic! Again! I-" "Farah." Todd starts, gently, "What happened? Are you okay?"

If he's being honest with himself (a newly obtained skill), then Todd isn't at all sure of what has happened in the past 24 hours. One moment he was in an oddly idyllic situation, and the next his entire body had been wreathed in blistering electrical burns upon the floor of a diner's washroom facility. Neither situation particularly frequented his life.  

        For one horrifying moment, Farah's eyes look glassy in the half-morning light, and Todd is sure that if she starts crying he won't know entirely what to do- "Dirk is missing, Todd."

"Dirk is-" He pauses, shifting up with a grunt, mind taking a minute to process the information, "He's _missing_?" It flits past his lips in a tight, tired note.

        Farah nods, a solemn expression morphing her face.

"Shit!" The curse rings sharply about the apartment, vaguely reminding the walls of Dorian as Todd flings himself upwards from the sofa and towards his jacket- his phone- "Oh fuck, _Amanda_! Is Amanda okay? Have you called her?" He pulls his hair back, an awful, viscous tar of dread permeating his bones as he thinks back to the combined haze of pain and Amanda's voice in his ears. She had been trying to tell him something, he was sure, but he just couldn't pick his way towards it, not when he was certain he was meeting his duly excruciating end.

Farah stills his suddenly rampant movements before Todd makes it halfway to the door, gripping his shoulder with concern. "She's fine. She's with Vogel- But, but they were cut off from the rest of the Rowdy 3... something about the government after them, the CIA, Todd! Can you believe that?" Farah's hands have migrated to her hips, an oddly pensive look in her eyes.

        "No." He blinks, and meets her gaze, "Well, yes. A week ago I wouldn't have believed in Sharksplosions..." He thumbs through his contacts, tapping Amanda's name in a blind hurry, heart thumping at his ribs. "Are you sure she's okay? When did you talk to her? Wait, what time is it now?" He says all this too fast, bringing his phone to his ear and fiddling with his jacket and trying to control his emotions in a simultaneous display of sporadic energy.

For a long moment, he stares at Farah as if she will produce all the needed answers. Then, the dial tone sounds. 

And as it sounds again, and again, _and again_ , Todd becomes acutely aware of the growing proximity of his apartment walls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bear with me while I work through how to use AO3! Kudos/Comments/Critiques are welcome and appreciated!


	2. Accidental Arson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mystery Crew are - almost - rejuvenated (albeit some better off than others) and begin their new dance to the Universe's tune.

"How are we doing, objective-wise?" 

 

"As before, ma'am, Project Incubus and Bartine have escaped, but Icarus is in facility." 

The woman stood in front of a display screen of maps, and strings, and all things technical, allows her shoulders to relax a little. "To be expected. Anything more?"

"Friedkin has bases covered. The Springs' Mansion. The abandoned Zoo facility. And... 515 Ridgely Place."

 

        "Excellent."

 

"See, isn't it easier when you are void of emotional attachment? I certainly think so."

The officer beside her squirms as she turns her stony gaze to him, eyes a cold grey - complementary to the lifeless interior of their base. White walls. White floors. White ceilings. Perfect for getting dirty, and _incessantly_ disturbing upon requirement.

As Wilson's lips peel back in an oddly intimidating smile, her teeth are also a pristine, flawless _white_.

 

\---

 

"Vogel... Get her out of here."

 

Martin's order had been deep and throaty, the kind of order not a single one of the Rowdies could refuse.

        It had lodged itself into Vogel's gut like a knife.

That had been the tipping point for him - with Cross and Gripps and Martin all eyeing him with such burning intensity; Amanda's anxiety leaking into the air like a storm cloud. It was choose between his family, or his _family_ , with one outcome leaning towards decidedly more bloodshed. He had listened. Because Vogel listens, he does, and because the weight of Martin's gaze had already started him running with Amanda before he even knew what was happening. Before Martin even had to snarl again.

Maybe the look of anger and hurt in her eyes was warranted as she threw glances back to her Rowdies - _her_ Rowdies - and the emergence of men in uniforms from the grass like malformed, shadowy predators, the wind whipping the blue and red smoke into a chaotic tornado of fumes. But Vogel wouldn't leave her defenceless at the hands of the very men who had caged them to begin with; who had marked them _animals_ to begin with.

        The Rowdy 3 didn't hesitate. So neither would Vogel.

 

They run until they can't and then they run some more, seeking cover under the abundance of sharp, bristled trees bordering the vast expanse of grasslands.

 

"Really- landed ourselves in it now, huh...?"

Amanda gives a tired nod in the direction they had come, the faint, distant tendrils of smoke arching up into the air like sinister limbs as she and Vogel scramble together to the base of a tree, half-way from Springsborough and a hell of a long way from 'fine and dandy'.

Vogel gives an angry, defeated snarl, lashing out at the bark behind with a vicious kick. Amanda is tempted to do the same, before the sweltering air and her current breathlessness urge her otherwise. She is, probably, on the verge of an attack, if her heart rate is anything to go by. At least she knows she _would_ be, if her skin had begun to itch in a familiar prelude. Nerves under the influence of Pararibulitus like to do that - overload your sensory information before plunging you into a visceral nightmare (apparently).

"Dude-" Amanda starts, panting roughly, before searching her phone and trying for Todd once more. Since flipping him off with toxic-green nails and whipping out of his run-down apartment in a leather jacket, she hadn't really expected to want to contact him so readily.

But she supposes having the CIA tail you is as good a reason as any. Oh. And hearing a series of tortured screams tends to put someone on edge when coming from a person that they (used to) care about. "-At least we have my phone, I guess..." She mutters, more so to herself, as Vogel processes his current frustrations out onto mother nature - with his fists.

 

Amanda takes to breathing exercises, hating that all the ones she knows come from Todd.

 

        The tone sounds. Once. Twice. Three times- "C'mon... C'mon... _C'mon_ you _asshole_ -" The ringing in her ear abruptly cuts short, her stomach yawning as she looks down to find the screen blank, and lifeless, and _dead_. "Oh shiiit!" She hisses, and flings her phone onto the ground, hearing it scatter across fallen branches with a delightfully metallic grinding.

If it were any other situation, she might find it in her to laugh.

Vogel is at her side in seconds, presence worried and insistent as he questions her. "I'm fine. Phone's dead." She sniffs, and blames the sudden knot in her throat at having just avoided another attack. The air becomes thick with smoke and heady with the threat of fire, tiding purposefully over the peaceful horizon like an omen. She takes one look at Vogel - his eyes flared wide with panic - before scrambling for her phone and his wrist as they take off towards the nearest interstate road.

Who knew that just _one week_ could provide - among other things - a temporary cure to a horrendous genetic disease, fantastical run-ins with a van full of violent emotion-sucking-'vampires', a betrayal from her own brother _and_ , now, the apparent _CIA_ on her tail.

Certainly not Amanda.

 

\---

 

"Really, Bart?" Ken, for a man so fundamentally _innocent_ , has (and not for the first time) witnessed a scene of mass and utter destruction so unbelievable that he has adopted it as the truth. After all, his vision is 20/20, and _surely_ that stands for something. He really did just witness one rock and a holistic assassin take out numerous fully-clad military men.

"I mean... Did you have to... get all..." He flings his wrists around them both, processing the number of dead ( _dead_ ) bodies surrounding them, "What's the word? _Killy_?"

        Bart gives a rough growl of response, inspecting the graze on her palm left behind after clenching a rock skin-tight. "Universe-" "Told you to." Ken says, and throws his arms up in an exasperated gesture. "Right. Duh!" Ken gives a glum look to the windows of their now busted-up cab, before scooping up Rapunzel in his arms and making his way around the car to Bart's side.

        Her energy pricks his skin.

After a moment, he turns to the hood of the car, and gives a once over as to the health of its' contents.

 

"Cab should still work." Ken mutters, and gives himself a minute to pet through Rapunzel's coat. "Even if it doesn't, I reckon I can fix it."

 

Bart gives a slow, appreciate nod; worries the skin of her thumb between her teeth, and stares off into the distance like a husk.

 

"We waitin' for the Universe or we chasin' it first?"

        "Chasin'." Bart says, the grit in her voice jolting Ken enough for him to nearly drop Rapunzel.

"Oh! Oh _good_! Because I'm pretty sure the CIA won't be all that happy that we've taken down their men - _again_. They have protocols for that, y'know? More guns, too." He follows Bart to the car with a kind of energy at his heels that he hasn't really felt so much in his entire life more than he has in the past week. Adrenaline. God, how good it feels rushing through his veins.

"Who to?"

        "Dirk Gently, I guess." Bart has one thumb in the stream of creation.

Ken likes the dangerous glint that slides into her eyes, then. Like bared teeth.

 

\---

 

Todd pictures his life on the map of the universe as a brown stain. One could pin a lot of sources to a brown stain, none too pleasant, and none avoiding indelible consequences. It seeps. And it grows, and it festers, still as a blot on the otherwise pristine cosmic plating.

(Death is the _Windex_ ).

        And at that precise moment, ' _Windex_ ' seems to be fast approaching.

 

Farah stares down at her phone in momentary frozen horror, before gripping Todd's forearm and all together scaring him out of a panic attack that he was about to succumb to to begin with - ironic; "Todd."

Todd dips his head, swallows, and twitches in her grip, "Yes, Farah?" His tone is strained, and unconfined, and verging on the very edge of rude.

"The Spring Mansion is gone."

        "Gone? What do you mean _gone_?" Todd cries out, mindful that if he doesn't simultaneously pass out, throw up, and go into cardiac arrest soon, then he will most certainly need an aspirin.

"Arson. They say it was arson but that can't be right! That can't be right! I was there, I was there just a few hours ago and now they want me to believe that the Spring Mansion is burnt to ashes, like a meteor like-"

 

Farah jerks back to reality as the puzzle pieces slide into place.

 

"The Men of the Machine... Todd, shit! We need to get out of here!"

        A sharp _ping_ sounds between them, and Todd breaks eye contact with a worried glance and a jerky movement towards his unhinged front door. "Rimmer's facility."

"No! No! They didn't...!" Todd becomes distinctly aware of how tight his skin suddenly seems. "How could they have the time to...? This isn't Estevez, is it? The police wouldn't want to dirty their hands this way, it would just create more obstacles more... Oh. _Oh_. Doesn't that mean the Ridgely is in danger? Is that what you were just saying? What about Amanda's place? Farah, what about-" He forces himself to pause, and take a very poorly controlled breath, articulating with a tight throat that he is very, very, _very_ nervous as of now.

"That's okay." Farah says, "It'll be fine, Todd, we'll figure something out!" Neither are oblivious to the way her voice pitches with the comment, her usual Farah-like authority slipping under the pressure of potential kidnapping. _Kidnappings_.

 

Oh, and arson. Accidental Arson, surely?

 

Some sod probably just slipped and _accidentally_ soaked the Spring Mansion in gasoline before _accidentally_ dropping a match onto the doorstep that Farah and Lydia used to play cards on.

 

Simultaneously, and equally as fearfully, the two detectives scramble for the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, Kudos/Comments are much appreciated! We'll see where this goes from here, I don't have much at all planned out! Please give a few moments to tell me if you're enjoying my work.


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